Mornie Utúlië
by Elendraug
Summary: Legolas' thoughts turn dark. Written for Minka's fanfiction contest. [ Gen. Legolas. ]


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Mornie Utúlië

By StarWolf

2/17/2003 - edited 4/25/2004

Title: Mornie Utúlië

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Author: StarWolf (elendraug@yahoo.com)

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Fandom: Lord of the Rings

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Rating: R for language

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Genre: Angst

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Warnings: A/U, suicidal-ness, OOC-ness and cursing, general ignorance

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Pairing: slight Aragorn/Legolas

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Distribution: Don't archive it.

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Disclaimer:Tolkien owns them, not me.

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Summary: Legolas' thoughts turn dark. Written for Minka's fanfiction contest...which I think died.

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Authoress' Note: I just realised how much my old fics suck. This was written mostly as an outlet for personal frustration. Maybe you'll like it -- I certainly don't.

The title was taken from "May It Be," and means "Darkness has come."

______  
  
Why do I bother?!  
  
None of them care about me. Not a single fucking one. Why in Varda's name am I on this God-forsaken "quest," anyway? It's not like they want my opinion, my help, or my advice. No. We just brought the Elf so we could have something pretty to look at while we shove our weapons through ugly creatures' bodies.  
  
God.  
  
We're stuck on a hill. A stupid, fucking hill! What is so Goddamn difficult about going up this mountain? Oh yes, whine and complain some more, why don't you? We all know that it can fix anything. If anyone had listened to my advice, we wouldn't be here in the first place.  
  
I told them that I saw something in the distance. I told them that it wasn't a dark cloud. I told them that we had to do something. Did they listen? No, of course not.  
  
Oh, I forgot. I'm just a beautiful but vapid Elf. What would I know?  
  
Right. What would I know, anyway? I'm only about...hmm, THREE THOUSAND YEARS OLDER THAN THE REST OF THEM. It's not like I have any experience in anything. Oh, no. Not at all. Even if you give or take a few years (not including Gandalf), I've lived far longer than the majority of this 'Fellowship.'  
  
Hah. That's a good one, Elrond. 'Star-dome' my ass. A fellowship occurs when there is a group of people who care about each other, and work together to achieve a goal. Usually a rather demanding one.  
  
No doubt, this is a difficult journey, and will continue to be strenuous. But no one cares anymore. We get trapped in some snow on a fucking stupid mountain, and they all give up.  
  
Hello!? Are any of you people awake?? We're desperately trying to find a way to rid the world of a great evil before it can resurface, and my companions are too preoccupied with their own comfort to care. Maybe it's just me, but I think the fate of Middle-Earth and, possibly, the Undying Lands themselves are a tiny bit more important that anything we're complaining about.  
  
It must be me.  
What!?  
  
What are they thinking? Go through Moria, of all places! What part of 'dark abyss' do you people not grasp!? Frodo, how could you? Doesn't anyone tell these little Hobbit-things any information that might be just slightly critical for this situation? They don't know what's going on outside of the Shire, or wherever they came from, which is exactly why the rest of us are here in the first place! We're supposed to be helping them. Guiding them. Teaching them.  
  
Boromir and his Steward-of-Gondor-ness seems to like hitting on the poor creatures. Pervert. That's the last thing those confused little people need -- a big, scary, and smelly Man wanting to screw them senseless. Sure. That'll impress them. That will most definitely make them respect the race of Men.  
  
All this for a stupid, fucking ring. Boromir was right in that it '`tis a strange fate that we should suffer so much pain and anguish for so small a thing.' Or something along those lines. It doesn't really matter.  
  
And yet here I am anyway, scouting around and looking for a way down. I really don't get it -- we climb to the top just to turn around and go back? What was the point? Why did we waste so much time and effort? Every passing day brings us closer to death...though, like I said, no one seems to care anymore.  
  
In fact, I would very much like to die right about now. I just don't see a reason to keep living. No one appreciates me for who I am -- they just see the beautiful Prince of Mirkwood. Even my own people only think that about me.  
  
I no longer feel like one of them. I am no one. I belong to no one. I belong with no one.  
  
I want to die.  
  
How easy it would be to throw myself off the edge of this cliff. The other eight would see it as cruel misfortune; oh, poor Legolas. He slipped on the icy ground and plummeted to his demise. His body will snap and freeze on the snowy slopes of Caradhras.  
  
What a shame.  
  
They wouldn't miss me. Only when I'm gone will they realize how essential I really was to this team -- my sharp eyesight, acute hearing, and numerous flawless victories against countless numbers of Orcs. My accuracy and precision with my bow and my arrows, my persistence, my determination, my hope.  
  
How stunned they would be if only they knew...those last three are deceptions. I have lost my hope and purpose in this life. No one understands the curse that immortality brings until they're faced with it themselves. I've struggled on for nearly three thousand long years...  
  
Yes, at one glorious time I knew love. I knew joy, happiness, exhilaration. Freedom. A long time ago I'd felt wanted, needed, loved. I'd felt like a real person, worthy of my existence. I've been held, caressed, soothed by many people in all these years.  
  
But all of it was short-lived. The things that had once made life worth living was brutally ripped from me, and placed just outside of my reach -- forever.  
  
I've seen my lovers die before me, knowing for fact that I'll never see them again. I've witnessed the death of my best friends. I've viewed the merciless slaughtering of entire villages. I've known the unbelievable destruction left in the wake of creatures that were bred for one sole reason: to kill. To annihilate.  
  
To make everyone else suffer.  
  
And how I suffer. Each and every day that I wake up and open my eyes is more than a reason to take my own life. I want nothing more than to stay in that welcoming darkness, the calming quiet that exists in me only while I sleep. I do not want to wake.  
  
They do not understand. They cannot understand. They have no idea how it is to be promised perfection for an eternity, and to not want it. I hate it. I hate my life. I hate them. I hate myself.  
  
I hate.  
  
Orcs are mutilated Elves. They were tortured until they forfeited their ethereal beauty, captivating grace, attuned senses, impeccable intelligence and skills. They were forced to crossbreed with repulsive excuses for living things, simply because someone wanted an army. A cruel, callous army with obvious strength that can easily be manipulated.  
  
It makes me sick.  
  
They were thrust into twisted circumstances that they loathed with every part of their being, and had no choice but to comply with the wishes of insensitive overlords. They gave up, lost their hope, lost their sense of purpose, and became incapable of feeling anything good.  
  
Come to think of it, I'm not all that different from the Orcs that I kill on a regular basis. Knowing this doesn't help, but it does serve to deliver a reality check. God knows I've needed one for a few centuries.  
  
They were just like me. Exactly.  
  
I want an escape.  
  
That precipice is looking so tempting right now. I just want to...  
  
"LEGOLAS!" A (worried?) yell from behind me, hurting my ears with the intensity of the sound. They forget how much better my hearing is...there's no need to scream at me.  
  
I feel strong hands on my shoulders. I was so close, so damn close....  
  
I whirl around to face my would-be saviour. The one who could almost know how I feel. So like me, but not. How little he knows. He does not understand me, and he's been the one with the best chance of helping me. But he cannot. He doesn't know how. He doesn't understand...  
  
"Goddamn, Aragorn! Are you so blind that you cannot see when I want to be left alone? I want to die! I could have done it, right there. But you just had to go and catch me, didn't you. Didn't you!?" I tear myself out of his grip and shove him with all my strength. He goes flying back into a snow drift, farther that I had anticipated. My anger and disappointment must have been fuelling my attack; he seems more than a bit disoriented. I do not care. Not now.  
  
It's too late to love me now.  
  
Tears stream down my cheeks -- I want them to stop, but they don't. Not even when they freeze instantly on my skin, the frigid air more than doing its job. Even I don't know why I'm crying.  
  
I sink to the ground, wrapping my thin arms around myself, and clutching the pitiful material that only pretends to be a cloak to my body. I am not cold. I can no longer feel.  
  
I cannot feel anything.  
  
I do not feel the chill of the snow against me as I collapse fully into the snow bank. I do not feel the enduring heat of Aragorn's body as he hauls me out and holds me to his chest. I do not feel the eyes of the other members of the Fellowship upon me as they call out my name, pleading with me to wake up.  
  
Didn't I tell them? I don't want to wake up. I want it to all go away...far away from me, where I can't be hurt anymore. Where I don't have to feel anything at all. It's too hard to live.  
  
Did you know that the leading cause of death is life? It's true. Everyone who is born will eventually die...even me. I will kill myself, since I seem to be unable of dying a 'natural death.'  
  
No death is natural. There is a reason every time it happens. My reason?  
  
An Elf. That's what I am. An Immortal, Beautiful, Talented, Beloved Prince of Elves.  
  
I don't want it. Take it all away from me. I want my soul to be cast into a pit of darkness, where thinking is not required. It hurts...oh how it hurts...  
  
Not so much physically as emotionally. So draining...so completely overwhelming. I can't feel my body anymore. I think I went into hypothermia a while ago....  
  
That's my reason.  
  
I think Aragorn is leaning over me. I think I see Frodo...Frodo, the Ringbearer, and the rest of the Hobbits. Sweet, innocent little things. Maybe they do care...yes. In their hearts they possess the ability to care. About something that matters to them...but not me.  
  
They'll forget me. Everyone always does. I've been used all my life...for gratification of every kind imaginable. My own family couldn't care less. I am no longer a person. I was made into an object long ago....  
  
I think Aragorn is crying. I think Gandalf looks tired, worn-out. I think the Hobbits are off in a remoter area...I think they're huddling together. I think they're crying, too. I think Boromir looks depressed. I think the Dwarf looks...oh, why bother. I don't mean anything in the least to him. He means nothing to me.  
  
I mean nothing to the world, and it is nothing to me. We're even.  
  
Why are they crying? Why do they mourn me, when I do not mourn myself? I'm leaving them.  
  
I'm begging you, Death, wherever you are lurking. Take me. Take me far from all the hurt, the pain, the stress of simply living. Take me wherever you will, just take me.  
Did I do something wrong?  
  
Yes, you idiot. Of course you did something wrong. You always do. Even now, as you talk to yourself, you're doing something wrong. No, it's of no importance what it is you did -- no one cares.  
  
I know this.  
  
I pleaded with Death. Tempted Fate. Implored their help in relieving me of the torment I face with every sunrise, the false hope that is renewed with every sunset. Hope that I'll go to sleep and never wake up. The desperate wish for an escape -- any sort will do fine.  
  
But there is no way out. Not even in Death, for he will not aid me.  
  
Damn.  
  
I'm crying again. It's too cold to cry, but I am. Someone holds me, trying to keep me warm. He (for I know without a doubt that this person is a 'he') kisses my forehead, strokes my cheek with his hand, and gently runs his trembling fingers through my tangled and frozen hair.  
  
I think...no, I know it's Aragorn.  
  
How noble of him.  
  
He does this to try and convince himself that he made an attempt to save me, when it was impossible from the start. I've been a lost cause since the day I was born.  
  
He tries so hard to make me feel safe, when all that exists around me in all directions is a silver storm of bitter cold. Cold. It's so cold.  
  
Like me. My soul, my heart, my body. So cold...  
  
No one can save me now.  


____  
  
_"I look inside myself and see my heart is black, I see my red door and it's heading into black. Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts. It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black..." _

- Mick Jagger, "Paint It Black."


End file.
